


English Rose

by HoolyDooly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Also Spain was a rough man and so was Prussia, Arthur has a sexy side that has made Francis freaking out with his emotions, M/M, Napoleonic Wars Francis had a dark fantasy, Self-Indulgent, That disgusts present day Francis, kinda OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27263503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoolyDooly/pseuds/HoolyDooly
Summary: The meeting in Denmark about climate change had gone well enough. Some pledging carbon emission lows and money for study. But afterwards when he was looking for the restroom of the confusing halls of the meeting building he stumbled upon an office in the back corner. The door was ajar and he wouldn’t have given it a second thought if it wasn’t for the deep pleasured moan he heard- Who could blame him for wanting to take a peak?
Relationships: Denmark/England (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia), England/Portugal (Hetalia), England/Prussia (Hetalia), England/Spain (Hetalia), England/Turkey (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	English Rose

The thought always came around. How France’s enemy Britain would be if he could bed him. He imagined having to gag the man for the beginning until he broke him down with gentle touches and sweet words. But that was no fun at all. Arthur’s sarcastic nature is what he begrudgingly enjoyed about him.  
  
He imagined him angry, frustrated, brows furrowed for most of it. He’d curse breathily. But Francis never dwelled on it too long. It was most likely never going to happen. He felt he came close to having the power to force it on him- But just the thought made him wince. His Napoleonic years brought out the worst in him. He imagined destroying London and taking the nation at his weakest. Not for the carnal pleasure but to prove a superiority. To humiliate him in front of his people. Those thoughts make him angry with himself. He is the country of love, culture, wine. Not rape and evil! At least not anymore. There was a foul taste in most people's mouths for decades after that. Antonio couldn’t look at him and it took awhile for Gilbert to not glare.  
  
They had gone to their old agreement after they fight…. Do not speak of the bads and enjoy their friendship. He’s grateful for it, it’s why he had tried to keep Prussia from Russia in the debates. Why when the wall fell down he was there for him with his favourite beer.  
  
They teased him about England when he let his thoughts out about him. They knew the melancholy, his want. Because they were his friends and the only people he trusted to say these things to. Even back in the day when a man wanting another man was sinful. He’s feelings hurt him… So why tempt himself with something he knew he couldn’t have? He’d wanted him for sometime. He buried those feelings a long time ago. But then… he stumbled upon something that shocked him. The meeting in Denmark about climate change had gone well enough. Some pledging carbon emission lows and money for study. But afterwards when he was looking for the restroom of the confusing halls of the meeting building he stumbled upon an office in the back corner. The door was ajar and he wouldn’t have given it a second thought if it wasn’t for the deep pleasured moan he heard- Who could blame him for wanting to take a peak?  
  
“Engelsk rose.” Mathias purred, hand gripping a familiar head of blond hair, Francis sucked in a quiet gasp, England on his knees- HIS KNEES! Denmark’s pale cock half in his mouth, his cheeks flushed and hollowed as he sucked the Dane off. He slowly pulls off of it to put a lick from top to base and back again. With a slight smirk.  
  
“God you’re sexy.” Denmark compliments with an appreciated groan as Arthur practically unhinges his jaw to take the entirety of the Dane’s cock in his mouth. He slid down quickly with a groan that made Mathias whine. The sounds were immensely obscene and he could feel himself flush. If it had been anyone else, he’d be just turned on. But, it was Arthur.  
  
Francis feels…. A lot of feelings happen as Mathias decides to just use Arthur’s mouth, tugging his hair and making him take him deeply over and over. The soft whines England made was stirring something a bit more solid than emotions.  
  
Mathias’ thrusts were relentless, rough. He was worried that Arthur would get hurt from it.  
  
  
Arthur slaps at the Dane’s hip twice and with a whine, he releases the Englishman’s hair. He slowly pulls his mouth away, an audible pop as he sucks it hard at the tip before letting go of it. He gives the tip a surprisingly playful lick afterwards, licking up precum.  
  
Francis can’t in his wildest imagination, ever imagine him to be like this. Arthur so willing and… Sexy! He holds back a groan in his throat. Not wanting to get caught. He unbuttons his pants but idles, unsure if he should do this?  
  
Arthur takes a deep breath. But what he does say makes Francis’ knees weak. Almost all of his blood just went to the south of France, he’s sure of it. “Now, now. Don’t want to be a naughty boy and cum without me.” The way Arthur’s accent said ‘naughty’ it was just…. So sultry! Who was this man? Francis had no idea.  
  
He pulls himself out, he can’t contain himself, he pulls back the skin around his tip and thumbs at the sensitive skin with a shudder.  
  
Mathias' laugh usually didn’t grate on his ear but when he did it as he picked England up like it was nothing- It ticked him off deeply. Arthur seemed used to it, an arm hooking around the Nord’s neck. How many times have they done this? How many times has Arthur willingly sucked the Dane off without his knowledge- When did this start?  
  
“How-” England shushed Denmark with a dominating kiss that seemed to make Mathias shudder.  
  
“Put me on the low file cabinets, face me against the wall and _remind me…._ Of all that viking brutishness, love.” Arthur purred and Francis whined lowly, leaning his shoulder on the wall and keeping his eyes on them. His eyes blew wide at the proclamation, swallowing hard. Face warm. Had it been anyone else. He would just have found lust… But _Arthur?_  
  
Mathias shivers, eyes dilated with lust as he places Arthur knees first onto the cabinet only stopping him from turning around to say. “I hate not seeing your eyes min lille heks, they haunt me now you know?” Mathias holds Arthur’s chin in his hand to keep him from turning away right away, but with a roll of those ‘haunting eyes.’ He’s hands go running down Arthur’s waist, thumbs teasing at the waist band of Arthur’s pants. England presses his face and hands up against the wall. The cabinet was the perfect level for Mathias to take him from.  
  
Francis frowns, thumb idles a moment as he’s lost in thought. He knows how haunting his eyes can be.  
  
He’s seen those eyes glow in the dark of battle, blood splattered on his face and mouth lined in a snarl. Seen them look at him with superiority or burn with pure hatred.  
  
But a memory knocks its why into his head… Rare time of gentleness they both had. The Americas.  
  
Matthieu and Alfred.  
  
He’s seen those eyes warmed near a shabby hearth as he holds the sleeping future super power in his arms, wrapped in a pretty little quilt that Francis vaguely remembers making fun of Arthur for making. But how he shut up about that when he made a similar one for Matthieu…  
  
Francis remembers that being a moment of weakness where a life of a human could await him. Where all he had to worry about was a family in the middle of the new world. No political espionage or another war he needed to worry on the horizon. Arthur had looked up at him, fire dancing in those eyes that had seen countless horrors, some of those being by his own hand. Those eyes weren’t of a great empire taking the world. But of a father. A man that felt content with the world in that moment.  
  
It was a quiet moment where he felt the two were connected by more than bloodshed for once. A familiar word tickles the back of his heart, but he refuses to use it. Burying it deep inside him.  
  
“Ahh!” Arthur unabashedly yelped and it broke Francis out of the memory of that cabin at the edge of the woods that overlooked the tiny seaside town. Back to….. _Mon Dieu._ _  
_ _  
_ Arthur looked like puddy in the hands of the Dane, his cock already buried deep within Britain- Did he even prep the poor man!?  
  
“Mathiassss….” Arthur whined, his back arched back into the man. The Dane was relentless. One hand gripped at a narrow hip, the wet slap made Francis swallow hard, tightening a hand on his own length, thumbing the head as Arthur was loud needy- _Wanton_ .  
  
“Hnnn pl-please.” He begged, Mathias’ other hand was up the front of his shirt, probably teasing at his nipples. Mathias just laughs and gives a sharp bite to the lower back of Arthur’s neck. Which made him practically howl with pleasure. “Ahhgoddd.” Arthur let’s out a breathless high pitch.  
  
“Ahhh fuck, don’t stop.” Arthur makes a choked sound as Mathias growls changing their position roughly. Slamming the brit so hard down to the cabinet it made Francis wince. But he grips himself harder, pumping his cock. Mathias pulls out, turns him around so they were face to face and pushes all the way in again in one fast thrust. Arthur went completely slack cumming from the force.  
  
Wasn’t that a sight to be hold, white globs of cum were on his nice cotton shirt and drippled down his cock.  
  
“God you’re so fucking hot.” His hand working deftly to un do the buttons of Arthur’s stained shirt exposing a pale and lightly freckled expanse of flesh. Francis has seen Arthur shirtless before, naked even! But he feels like a fool for missing all of these…. Arousing details. The delicate frame- he forgets how slender and how Arthur has never truly grown out of the boyish features he’s always had. The softness still around his jaw that has persisted since they were young. Arthur also had stamina, even after the release, he still stood at attention.  
  
Francis wants to suck on his dick like a popsicle, blow his mind so badly. Make Arthur his.  
  
“So pretty.” Mathias coos, lips against Arthur’s collar bone. His arms wrapped around the Dane’s head as he praised the Island.  
  
“ Skin as warm as summer beach sand, eyes the color of the wilds and the body of a elver.” Mathias practically sang the praise with his moans. “I remember first seeing you- We were just teenagers. We fought bloody battles but it was only after, when Danelaw enacted and you emerged begrudgingly without battlements. You looked so pretty to me then.” Arthur sat there flushed as even when trying to be ‘quiet.’ He still whimpered and whined. Soft cooing moans as Mathias slowed enough to keep going.  
  
“Came out of that misty forest, just like the tales of the elver. Beautiful and strong even in defeat. I wish you were as willing back then. I’d have loved to conquer you completely then, in the audience of those wild celtic forests when they still thrummed with magic.”  
  
An indigent sound that was so distinctly Arthur that it made Francis ease his hand movements. Stomach flipping, realizing that yes. This is indeed the England he’s fought with for centuries and been infatuated for centuries..  
  
“They sti- AHnnn do-don’t…. Gah, they still have mmMH-agic!” Arthur defends, making Mathias laugh breathlessly As he does another harsh thrust that seems to daze the Englishman back to submission.  
  
“I know, but not like before. None of us like before.” He said, a sad tone in his voice. But it’s quick to get over taken by a groan.  
  
“Min Gud Arthur you’re so tight. I’m close.” Mathias wraps a hand around Arthur’s cock, making an erratic rhythm that Francis tried to match, biting his thumb as he watched the two hit climax and Arthur moaned like a seasoned harlot except it was with an honest tone. Not something faked- Francis knows a thing or two about fake orgasms and has had a few humiliations he’s happy is buried in the 1700s. Arthur’s own cum spurted across his stomach and even a bit on his chest. Arthur seemed dead for a few moments. Truly lost to the pleasure it seemed.  
  
Mathias came after Francis did, in his hand messily to keep from leaving evidence. He wishes his seed was buried deep inside the shockingly lustful Arthur. Jealousy makes him clench his jaw… But he lets out a shaky breath to calm himself, then he hears footsteps down the hall he had come from. He puts his pride away and wipes his hand on his handkerchief- His silk one! Cum is so hard to wash out of silk…  
  
He walks hopefully nonchalantly away from what has been…. An eye opener.  
  
\-------  
  
What shook Francis was how, how… Normal Arthur was after his sexcapade with the Nord. He was nitpicky, Quarreling with America- Quarreling with Denmark after the romp even! Annoyed at the prospect of challenging his bosses for low carbon emissions and trying to limit oil usage in the UK. It fascinated him, made him think it was just an illusion of his mind. Starved for Britain's attention. He had watched from across the bar, as Arthur had even gotten into a deep discussion about the poor environment that he’s been attempting to revitalize with a few others. Japan has always been one to speak a wise idea on subjects like that.  
  
How could he be so normal?  
  
Arthur…. Treated Mathias kindly, but he had a feeling they weren’t lovers. Sometimes Mathias would look at England and he’d see a spark of lust or cockiness. Arthur would simply raise a brow if he caught the look. As if daring him to attempt something.  
  
He was retiring to his room, most of the nations were shooed out after annoying other patrons with their loudness in the hotel bar. Francis was surprised to hear Arthur, it nearly made him drop his keycard.  
  
“Oi Frog!”  
  
He sounded irritated, he worried that he somehow knew that France saw him getting fucked by the nord..  
  
“Are you well? You just sat in a corner all night like a dead fish.” Arthur’s brows were furrowed and Francis would usually poke fun at him for caring for him but not today. “It was creepy” He adds with a twist of his mouth.  
  
“I just had a scare. Nothing to worry about. You know America and his… weird ‘jump scares.’” He brushes the Englishman off and quickly goes into his room. Set to ignore his beating heart. Groaning once alone at the piss poor excuse. There is no way England would believe that lie!  
  
He hears him mutter ‘wanker’ before he walked away. He relaxes against the door with a shaky sigh.

  
  
It has been centuries and yet, why only after seeing England with another person like that… Stirred his heart so much? As much as the world joked about ‘England being a slut with all those kids!’ He had never seen the Brit succumb to carnal desire. It was as if it was above him. The sexually repressing English Empire, only craved bloodshed, land and power….  
  
Apparently they were wrong. He would get made, defend the fact that he believed Arthur still had his virginity. That he couldn’t even imagine that his awkward little Englishman could have sex. They never had said much, just teased him about talking about England again.  
  
He’s seen people take interest with him, women flirted with him over the years. He caught a few men appreciating him as well. A nation was always alluring to humans, they always were… Pristine looking. Healthy. So that’s no surprise.  
  
Something or well someone he always hated was Portugal. He would just….. He always stood close to Arthur, laid his hands on him. He once caught Arthur as he fell, Francis remembers how Arthur had flushed such a pretty shade in Santiago’s arms. How the Portugese man smiled with so much affection. He’s seen him be tender towards England, bring him food or tea without question a stupid caring smile on his face.  
  
Francis shakes his head. He needs to forget about this! He cannot unbury these centuries old feelings he has been ignoring throughout history. Arthur will not plague him.  
  
…..  
  
_“F-Francissss…” Arthur moaned, arms wrapped around his neck, nails leaving crescents in his skin. It felt delicious, everything did. Arthur smelled like sea salt and summer rain. Skin smooth as marble, other than the few scars that persisted. He had kissed the one on Arthur’s neck, where his rapier had caught Arthur’s jugular one fight, in a war Francis can’t possibly remember at the moment._ _  
__  
__“More, more! Don’t stop, plea-se ahhn! I need this, I need you!” Arthur begged and it threw Francis over the edge, those were the words he wanted him to say more than anything… That he needed him._ _  
__  
_ Francis gasps awake, a wet feeling in his pajama bottoms that makes him grimace.  
  
He couldn’t forget it.  
  
Francis just can’t forget it, his feelings storming in his heart. The idea of Arthur begging Mathias for release. For needing him has made him so angry. After he cleaned himself up, he knew he had to clear his head.  
  
Francis found himself walking through the hotels garden that slopes down to a river. A building sat beside it, some kind of garden shed probably. He feels like sitting by the water will help drown out his thoughts. The noises Arthur made rattling in his head like a broken record- What his dream Arthur had said to him making his heart sour. Thinking that he could have said those things to Mathias.  
  
“Sadikkk…” Arthur’s voice whined audible as Francis was about to step past the garden shed to go to the water. Francis couldn’t believe his ears at that name…. Surely not. Surely Arthur wouldn’t be with another man again. His heart clenched at a sharp moan.  
  
“Ahah, just like old times eh?” Turkey laughed and Francis peaked around the corner…. Arthur had his pajamas bottoms and underwear at his ankles and his shirt open, Sadik was mouthing at the chilled bare skin as he jerked off the younger nation. Even in the semi dark, Francis saw how marked up Arthur’s torso was with bites. How drool slipped from the corner of England’s mouth when the Turk nipped at one of his nipples. A whiny groan leaving his throat.  
  
“I remember before we signed that Dardanelles thing, we got up to this.” Sadik teased a pink nipple with his other hand as he twisted his fist that was around Arthur’s dick. The way Arthur tossed back his head and moaned just made his blood pump. Just as it did back when he saw him with Mathias.  
  
“Such a delicate thing you were. Still are.” Sadik said with a level of respect, biting at Arthur’s neck, but not hard enough to leave a mark. He’d get punched for that. “Sure, all that power on your shoulders. But you were just such a tiny fair guy! What do they call english beauties? I heard a translator say it once during the great war….” Arthur was in no condition to answer as he melted into his second orgasm. Sadik is not at all displeased with getting dirty from it. This was a nice treat. Cum slicked his fist and there was some on his jacket.  
  
“Ah! İngilizce Rose!” He said, snapping a finger, stopping the abuse of England’s cock. “Yeah, I've seen a lot of pretty europeans. But nothing beat those eyes of yours.” Turkey then slaps at Arthur’s hip, laughing at the yelp. “And that perk ass of yours!”  
  
_I’ve stared at England’s face longer than anyone else!_ _I know how pretty they are, how they shined in the sun._ Francis thought angrily to himself. The very thought that Arthur was screwing around when he was at his height? When Francis' very army threatened to take England, he had been fucking Turkey?   
  
_His eyes should have only been on me then!_ Francis thinks seethingly.  
  
Sadik was laughing at something Francis had missed, but he didn’t miss the way Arthur put his hands on either side of the Turks face- Gently! With a tenderness he’s only seen very rarely from Britain.  
  
“As much as I enjoy reminiscing about my glory days-” He tried to say with a level of exhausted amusement. But Sadik cut him off.  
  
“Ah shut it kid, you’re not as young as some nations. But you talk as if you’re as old as me!” Sadik grins wide, taking out his cock. “But I know what you want İngilizce Rose, impatient for the main event.” Arthur salvated at the side, he saw the shiver rock his body and without another word, he turned around, arms cradling his head against the wall.  
  
Francis can’t stand to watch Arthur have sex with someone else again. He leaves, but he hears the sharp moan of the start of their activities. Blood runs downward and he knows his dreams will be plagued again by this information.  
  
\-------  
2 months…. TWO MONTHS. Since Francis had discovered that Arthur actually had a wild sex life that not only involved Mathias but Sadik! He would have never thought in a million years that would happen…. But it’s troubling him more than it should. His heart clenches when he thinks about those men touching Arthur- He remembers so much about him. Has fought him and raised kids with him. Pulled him out of the mud in no man's land. Arthur had after finding him with the French resistance had pulled him into a crushing hug that had shocked Francis and when he pulled back he had a subtle smile and said.  
  
_“If anyone gets to kill you Francis Bonnafoy it will be me.” Arthur had declared simply and it had been the nicest thing to have happened to Francis for a long time._ _  
__  
_ France got up and walked to his telephone, dialing a familiar number, before the man could finish his greeting Francis growled.  
  
“Picardy, go get incriminating pictures of Denmark and Turkey. Print them and leave a message for them to come visit me.” Francis says darkly, hearing the poor man sigh. He has almost always been there, his best spy. He was average looking and could slip through the cracks in any court in the past. But he was invaluable during wars. Prank or serious ones.  
  
“Of course brother.” Picardy sighed as he hung up and France needs to know….  
  
_How did they win Arthur’s favor??_ _  
__  
_ \------

  
“What is this about France!” Turkey yelled as he kicked in Francis’ door, an angry Dane right behind him. He had two incriminating photos of the two in compromising positions on his office desk.  
  
“England.” He stated simply.  
  
Both men froze at the name. But tried to brush it off.  
  
“What about him?” Mathias asks, crossing his arms, unnervingly serious as was Sadik.  
  
“How did you do it?” Francis asked, hating the desperation in his tone. He had a speech but it's out the window as all he needs to know is how. “How did you convince Arthur to sleep with you?”  
  
“How?? Just normally!” Denmark said, confused. “You got that horrible picture just because of that?”  
  
“Yeah! I just put my moves on him, called him a strong nation and how pretty his eyes were.”  
  
Denmark glances at Sadik before shrugging. “Yeah pretty much what I did!”  
  
“That can’t be it!” Francis slams a fist on his desk standing up- He felt a tad like Germany from a world meeting. “I have been around him since he was a child. Arthur never in all my time has ever expressed interest in-”  
  
“Sleeping with you?” Sadik says harshly. Challenge in his eyes.  
  
“Maybe it’s because you're an asshole!” Denmark snaps at him.  
  
Francis slumped into his chair at that. Because it’s true. Arthur would scream or beat him up if he ever tried to…. ‘Put his moves on him.’ Even his purely innocent touch seemed to burn the island nation, his face always going red with anger. It’s as if his very presence seemed to make him burn with anger.  
  
But there were good times too- Surely Arthur remembered those? The day he was hugged during world war 2... The time Arthur had apologized to him for Joan Of Arc, he had taken Francis’ yelling, taken a beating without fighting back. All he could say was that he was sorry. He tried to stop it.  
  
Those weren’t things you did for someone you didn’t like. But all the normal tells that Francis knew, the subtle flirting had always been met with a harsh anger. Usually ended with him insulting Arthur’s looks.  
  
He threw the pictures at the two. Denmark was wearing some kind of black Lingerie and was making a kissy face at the mirror. Meanwhile, Turkey had a picture of him bare ass naked with plungers on his chest.  
  
“Get out.” He said venomously. As soon as he left, he pulled out a bottle of wine from the specialty drawer he had made for his desk. A wine cooler for stressful workdays.  
  
He needed a drink now.  
\-------  
  
Arthur was enjoying some tea, a bit of needle work after he finished up a meeting with the Prime minister. The fire was dying down and he felt extremely peaceful. It was getting well into the evening, but he felt a bit peckish. He knows that the little chinese restaurant around the corner stayed open till about 11. He could order something there. Just as he was about to do that. There were three solid knocks on the door.  
  
“Oh I swear if it’s Sealand and his hooligans again…” Arthur grumbles, the lad and his merry gang of micronations were visiting the old station off the coast and had been dropping in to bother him for pocket change.  
  
“Y- France!?” Arthur gasps at the sorry sight in front of him.  
  
“Angleterre….” The man says pathetically leaning on the door frame. Piss drunk and wet from rain. Before he could say anything the old bastard fell to the ground. Passed out.  
  
“Good lord Frog!” Arthur huffs, but wastes no time dragging him in and to the livingroom after shutting his flat’s door. He put Francis in his leather wingback chair, then tossed two more logs in the fireplace, stirring up the ambers to keep the room warm- The worst thing was a sick frog. He takes off his jacket- Wasn’t even a raincoat, just some ‘stylish’ suede thing. It makes Arthur shake his head. “Wanker.” He huffs, walking to hang it on the coat rack by the door.  
  
Still, no matter how much of a bastard Francis is, he takes care of him- France rarely gets drunk like this unless something majorly has gone wrong. He puts a thick cotton quilt onto his sofa, before moving France there, taking the man’s dirty shoes off and putting them back in the hall. His pants seemed unscathed, but his shirt was soaked, He started unbuttoning it with a huff. Once done he just folds it on the coffee table. He’ll toss it in the drier before bed…  
  
Worry was in his gut as he put his wrist to Francis’ forehead. He was warm, but nothing dire he thinks. Arthur sighs, brushing back his usually silky hair out of his face, all wet and clumped together because of the rain. A moment of melancholy in his chest as he looked upon Francis’ handsome face.  
  
They were at best, friends. Francis has made it clear his thoughts on Arthur’s appearance. Plus, he only ever brought up something sexual in some sick power fantasy and he, honestly was still upset at the letter Pierre had dropped off, The sick power fantasy of a crazed man under the world's first dictator. It was the only time Francis had mentioned anything about the two of them having sex. He still had it somewhere. Arthur kept it close to make him feel hate instead of heartache. But even then, it still had a power to bring butterflies to his stomach. Even if it was for power, to destroy him in front of his people. It had still made him realize _Francis had thought about it. Thought about him._ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ He remembered asking Spain if he thought the letter was from Francis as well before they had had sex.  
  
_“Puta inglesa” Spain had growled in his ear. Abusing him deliciously after half of Spain decided to battle against the French empire. The Spaniard was pissed, beyond it. But Arthur had to sway him somehow. The tension during that time- England had just slipped into it. Like taking a mask off. Had seduced the Spaniard. It led to him being fucked against the wall. His nose was broken but he couldn’t care. Hell he came out of that, bewildered. He thought Spain was killing him at first._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I can give you more right now then Francis could.” He remembered saying, he purred it. Getting a stunned look. He remembered a familiar one cross Prussia when he had done it… Russia as well. The proud British Empire submitting to someone so willingly? At a later time, Gilbert had commented on it. Said that the pure power trip had satiated him more than anything else._ _  
_ _  
_ _Gilbert was in mourning for his brother. Was depressed and angry. Arthur didn’t plan on it. But he had caught the man in the middle of a rampage. Of anger, punching stone and in a state of duress, shirt undone and knuckles bloody. He was rage incarnated at the time and… Arthur gave him a distraction._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You need a better outlet. You can’t defeat France by abusing yourself.” Arthur had stated, crossing his arms, back up against the wall. Prussia had punched it right next to where his head was, Arthur hadn’t flinched but it made his heart pound. His eyes go half lidded as Gilbert breathes harshedly, face close to his. Gentle he put a hand on his chest- He can’t deny that Prussia was an attractive man, with his fae like appearance. Eyes as red as rubies and skin as pale as the purest snow._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You can abuse me instead. I can take it.” Arthur had whispered, watching Prussia’s eyes widen. Confusion, realization. One moment it looked like he was about to leave him, but then a dark look overcame him and he took him roughly, Arthur had been sore for weeks after. Though he doubts Prussia’s claim of his dick size. It was definitely LARGE. Arthur felt like it somehow reached up to his stomach. He cried, but it was delicious in a way. Gilbert had muttered about showing up Francis, defeating him. Destroying him mentally and physically. That had hurt his heart, but he buried it deep in his chest._ _  
_ _  
_ Arthur takes his hand away, knowing he’s lingering too long. France was his greatest enemy and more recently a decent friend. He knows the other nation’s thoughts on his appearance and has had it shouted at him from across a meeting. Moving to go sit back in his chair, tsking at the dampness on it. He wipes it off with the doily on his side table, too lost in thought to really go fetch a proper paper towel.  
  
_“Lots of balls showing up here, Britain.” Sadik had begun, mildly. Not like Arthur hadn’t tried to destroy them because of the alliance they had with the French. Which sung well in his favour. Perhaps Turkey can become an alley against France as well._ _  
_ _  
_ _What he didn’t expect was to be hit on. His eyes wide. “I think my guys are just about ready to sign a treaty. But I’ll leave that for another time…. For now, I have to say I want to know you a bit more personally.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Arthur shivered at that tone in his voice. No one came onto him like that, usually he had to initiate it. But that large, strong hand on his face, tilting his head up. He really shouldn’t be so… Wanting._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re one of the prettiest Europeans I’ve seen, don’t know where everyone goes off about France or whatever. Those eyes of yours are spectacular.” He had purred and Arthur had been puddy in his hands._ _  
_ _  
_ _Prior to Turkey’s compliments, Arthur found his ‘love’ for being humiliated came from somewhere he didn’t like. Being humiliated satisfied a darker want. A want he couldn’t have while fighting against the advancing and ever victorious French._ _  
_ _  
_ _But oh, if Francis would look at him the way Mathias, Santiago or Sadik did? Like he was handsome, that he was beautiful._ _  
_ _  
_ Arthur looks at Francis' sleepy drunk form on his bed. Sighing. “Never.” He murmurs to himself sadly. He’d never get that, ever since they were young. His outfits always got nitpicked, his feelings hurt over and over by the taunts. Unfashionable as he was. Ugly as he was…  
  
He’s had a decent amount of partners. None of them spoke of it, he thinks it’s because of how he looks, how he’s ugly to most.  
  
Who would want to admit they slept with Britain of all people? But he holds close the few that would pamper him with compliments. It made him feel loved, cared for. Warm in his chest, but he knows he’s using them and their sweet words to fill a void centuries old that Francis made.  
  
He takes a deep breath, sure. He cares for them. But love was never something he felt for them. They knew it, so they just enjoyed the rare times they would come together for a passionate hour or two.  
_  
_ _“Elver, beautiful mysterious forest women.” Denmark had elaborated once after he first uttered it in sex. Brushing his hand down Arthur’s back as their legs were tangled together._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re so delicate, how did you do it güzelim?” Turkey said against his ear, well driving him through a dry 4th orgasm. “Eyes as precious as emeralds, skin fair as the moon. How did no one lock you away for only themselves to enjoy?” Sadik kissed him and whispered in his ears. “If I had made it into Europe, that’s what I would have done.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Santiago was his first. The Portugese man was enraptured with him back then, he feels that he was the one that mentioned the practice allegedly Rome would do. How he had said when two nations slept together it instilled a deep sense of loyalty between their people. Though the Royals disgusted by two men sleeping together at the time. Both wanted the treaty to last and last it did, to this very day. Santiago was gentle, loving and so attentive. But… All he could wish for was that the man had been France. No matter the sweet nights they spent together. Francis has already ruined him and Santiago hatefully knows it. Without ever laying a properly lustful hand on him. He lost his heart to someone he knows does not think of him like that. Thinks of him as hideous..._ _  
_ _  
_ Arthur takes a deep breath. He’s resigned himself to this fate. He has chances. But he knows Santiago, Mathias and Sadik have all had their gazes shifted from him. It was why he was so desperate to get appreciated by the two when he was at the climate conference. Portugal he had stayed with afterwards for a weekend of care.  
  
England stands, making sure the cover is around the fireplace proper. Lord knows his economy can’t survive another burnt London. He pulls part of the quilt over to cover Francis up so he will hopefully not catch a cold. He tugs a tiffany lamp on. A birthday gift from America. Then the overhead off. Going to bed, Francis’ shirt in hand. Appetite gone.  
  
\------  
  
Francis woke with a start, smoke tickling his nose. And a massive headache. He sat up, tossing the blanket off of his frame and looking around. _Arthur’s living room._ _  
_ _  
_ The fireplace was cool, nothing seemed to be on fire. He was confused. Francis rubs at his throbbing head. A brief panic going through his heart. He was drinking in his office. Did he really drink enough to come here? He noticed he was missing his shirt and a deep burning pit in his stomach told him he must have done something. But he noticed it was folded and even ironed on the coffee table. He pulls it on before walking towards the kitchen. Nose wrinkling at the burnt smell  
  
Arthur cursed under his breath as he scrapped burnt bits off of his toast into the bin. Francis puts a hand to his heart, glad he hadn’t tried properly cooking- But it also throbbed. He showed up wasted, probably did something stupid and passed out on England’s couch.  
  
Arthur turns and jumps at the sight of the panicking frenchmen. “Good morning to you Frog.” He sneered. Placing his plate on the table. “Aspirin and juice are on the table.” He says flippantly set to eat a meager meal of burnt toast and jam.  
  
Francis is quiet as he sits down across from Arthur, surprised to see two rolls on a plate in front of him. Edible looking. Arthur sees the question.  
  
“My usual breakfast. I always stop at the bakery before coming home.” He says without looking. He waves his hand towards the jams and various flavored butters on the table- The one thing Arthur was good at making were preserves and sweet butters. Francis pops two aspirin and drinks half of the juice, feeling parched. France has to address it now. “What did I say?” He was horrified to know what had happened.  
  
“My name and then passed out in my doorway.” Arthur says courtly, a furrow in his brow. Francis stares at him. A wordless question in those eyes.  
  
Francis just stared at him, in thought. Arthur was too pretty for his own good. His eyes were green, like Antonio’s but better. Brighter. He can’t explain that. He was spaced out; he hadn’t noticed Arthur calling his name multiple times before slapping the table.  
  
He cuts off England with his first thought. “Your eyes are bright!”  
  
“What?” Arthur asks, deeply confused. Then usual angry Arthur appeared. “Are you making fun of me? What’s got into you Frog! You’ve been weird since the climate conference.”  
  
Francis gets mad at the mention. “I sure know what got into you at that conference Arthur!” He hisses, his head throbbing as he yells.  
  
Arthur pales at the mention, brain not working properly. “No.” He says dumbly before he stands up, shame rising to his face, but he tries to make it anger. Needs verification. “What did get into me?” He snarls, when all he wants to do is hide..  
  
“Denmark and Turkey.” He practically growls. Arthur moves to leave. He can’t deal with this- And he has two men to hex. Francis grabs his arm to keep him from walking away- Just now noticing that the nation was in a blue pajama set still.  
  
England’s panicked face changed and before a calm took him, those eyes went half lidded. “What? Jealous Francis?”  
  
His face flushed, that purr in his voice, It made his heart throb. Not as much as Arthur’s hand touching the center of his chest flatly did. Closer still and he feels like he can see clearer now. How his eyes glimmer- But there’s something there. _Fear._ In those eyes that had flicks of gold in them. _  
_ _  
_ “Sexually conquested most of Europe, all but me I assume.” Arthur taunts with measured sigh passing his lips, delightfully drawing Francis’ eyes to them. He gulped and Arthur felt the excitement course through his veins.  
  
_Once. If I could just have him once. It will lessen the ache._  
  
Arthur leans forward. “What? Shocked that someone as hideous as me can fuck?” Green eyes stare up at him and Francis feels like he’s captured, a wince when Arthur calls himself hideous. Because he’s not, he’s definitely not now. Blood flows south as a salacious smirk crosses Arthur’s mouth. He wants this, but it doesn’t feel right for some reason. “You know….” Arthur begins sultry, leaning close. Close enough to kiss…. The only time the two of them have been this close was when they were trying to strangle the life out of one another.  
  
“I still have the letter. How you wanted to tear me to pieces and fuck me in the center of London so everyone saw my defeat.” He says lowly, leaning close enough that France could feel his breath on his lips. But Francis jerks back in horror at that, stepping away.  
  
“I- Letter?? I never wrote that!” Francis felt panic, this didn’t feel right. This wasn’t his Arthur. He sees a flash of hurt across his face, but then that calm look.  
  
Had he drunkenly written a letter? One about him wanting to hurt Arthur?  
  
“Your letter begs to differ.” Arthur corners him in the kitchen with a coy upturn of his mouth. “I know it by heart. I always considered it the reason I persevered against your army.” He clicks his tongue as Francis’ heart beats roughly in his chest.  
  
“Non.” He says- Francis doesn’t want that crazy time in his life, when all he wanted was blood shed, conquering and proving he was a force to be reckoned with. He can’t let this be a start- Arthur was propositioning him. Clearly he was interested. But this? It would turn into shallow sex. France feels ashamed now, he’s left so many people in the past. Shallow lustful sex. Arthur wanted that. No strings attached. It hurt his very soul.  
  
Arthur looks like the cat who got the cream. “Spain confirmed it when I asked him after Trefalger. But I know your handwriting well Francis.”  
  
Francis feels like his knees are about to give out. Arthur quoting the letter. The worst part of it too.  
  
_“When victory over London is secured and as the city is destroyed. I plan to take you in the very center of the chaos. Bloodied, beaten and weak. You won’t be able to stop me this time Arthur. I will have your country and you will be broken as you should have been centuries prior. I want you to cry like that day you fell to your knees during America’s independence. Begging me to stop. Nothing will stop me. You cannot stop me.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Francis is pale and feels sick to his stomach, he had been so messed in the head then. _  
_ _  
_ Arthur grins wickedly. “How about a bit of roleplay hm? I’m willing to be abused, hurt even. I still have swords from then too, slash me a bi-”  
  
“I don’t want you like that!” Francis says harshly, he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to hurt Arthur like that anymore. That was a twisted time in his life, how could he have sent it to Arthur? That sick fantasy. How could Arthur want to even roleplay it?  
  
There is a long moment, that only England’s ticking clock makes audible noise in the outdated kitchen, a mix of art deco and mid century modernism. “Ah. Alright.” Arthur says curtly and like it wasn’t a big deal. He shrugs. Goes back to his chair, leaving Francis horrified as Arthur frowns, body language back to normal. He sits down and takes a bite of his burnt toast.  
  
“I don’t know why sleeping with Mathias and Sadik has set you off, neither seem your type. But I’m not here to judge.” He says evenly.  
  
“It’s not about them- You have been sexually immature ever since I met you!” Francis accuses. Arthur raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Not since the treaty with Portugal.” He says simply, amused as Francis sputters for a minute.  
  
“Plus, I’ve slept with Spain and Prussia. I’d figured they’d have bragged about it at least once. Gilbert multiple times, I always assumed you knew.’”  
  
“You what!?” Francis hasn’t felt this angry in quite a few decades, he punches the wall making Arthur jump. “Those faux cul! After they told me my taste was ba-” He stopped himself. Looking at a wide eyed England.  
  
“Told you what?” Arthur presses and Francis really doesn’t want this to be how he confesses- If he should even do it.  
  
But England is on him in a second knocking him down against the wall, things clattering off the table as he moved. His fists tighten in his shirt. Shaking him, a desperation in his eyes. “What in the bloody fucking hell do you mean?” He growled, this was an England he knew. Violent temper, rough handling.  
  
“That I loved you! That I wanted to make you mine. _That I thought you were the cutest nation ever!”_ Francis snaps back, red in the face, but he isn’t the only one. Arthur’s face flushed as well. But his head was ducked and all he could see was his pinked ears. Francis’ heart is pounding, his head also. Arthur lets go of his shirt, he expects to be hit. But just tender hands touch his face and when England looks back up he’s crying.  
  
“Arthur?” Francis just studies his face with shock. Tears rolled down his flushed cheeks, they looked so soft.  
  
“You’re a wanker.” He says with a deep exhale, no bite to it. “You’re making fun of me again. Centuries Francis- Centuries you have never said one good thing about my looks.” He takes a shuddering breath. “N-now you’re just going to say you love me, that i’m cute? You’re a bastard!”  
  
Francis opens his mouth to apologize, his heart feels raw. To tell him he knows he is one. But Arthur pulls him into a rough kiss, arms wrapping around his neck. He shudders, Arthur tasted good- Jam, tea and a bit of a charcoal taste from the toast. But it was good.  
  
Arthur had a talented tongue, but he didn’t want to just melt into it- This was his chance, finally. Finally! He could willingly have him. He rubbed his tongue on the underside of Arthur’s, before wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him flat against him. They fit together perfectly, when they part, Francis kisses Arthur’s chin then down his neck muttering apologizes for the things he’s said. Arthur shakes when he gets to the curve that his soft neck turns to shoulder. He scratches it a bit with his teeth, testing if that was a stopping point. But Arthur moaned deliciously, he would have ravished him right there. Made up for all of his mistreatment there. His back being shoved into the wall by Arthur’s weight. But a harsh tug on his hair that made him whine was enough to give him pause.  
  
“I’ve waited since the 12th bloody century for this and I’d rather it not be on the floor.” Arthur admitted easily- When had he become so open?  
  
“Ohoho, you should have just became French territor-”  
  
“As much as you being a mental pain in the arse turns me on, I’d much rather you become a physical pain in my arse.” Arthur says pulling back to give him that look on his face he saw with Mathias. Coy and sexy.  
  
He gulps and is stunned briefly. But Arthur’s eyes go wide in surprise as Francis picks him up bridal style.  
  
“Oui, I want to treat you right, lapin. Show you how sorry I am- How much I love you.” Francis stresses the last bit.  
  
Arthur huffs, his face flushed but a small smile on his lips. “Please.” He says gently, sweetly even. Soft as a dove.  
  
The walk up to Arthur’s room felt like he was on cloud 9, Arthur mouthing at his neck kept making him shiver.  
  
“Put me down, I don’t want to stain the quilt. “ Arthur states and it warms Francis’ heart as he does it. It was so something he would do. Wave away the romanticism in being carried, just to save his blanket.  
  
He tosses the blanket and top sheet down to the foot of the bed, it was a grand bed. Solid wood. Victorian? It was carved ornately in dark wood and had a wood roof to it. It lacked the curtains. But his eyes quickly went back to Arthur, who sat on the bed, beginning to unbutton his pajama top. Francis waves his hands off before kneeling.  
  
“Let me cheri, I want to enjoy this.”  
  
Arthur gives him an amused look, putting his hands on the bed.  
  
Mid way unbuttoning the shirt, a thought came up. “Tell me… What did you like from your past experiences?” He felt a tad bit uncomfortable, knowing he had to outperform Spain in particular. Most who had slept with him said he was the best fuck they had ever had. Even the Netherlands had admitted it.  
  
Arthur frowns. “Antonio and Gilbert?”  
  
Ah, it was just like Arthur to know who he meant. He finished undoing the buttons on the shirt, but just let his hands run along the soft flesh. Francis avoided those knowing eyes, but nodded.  
  
“Spain broke my arm and nose, fucked me so roughly that he dislocated my hip. He called me an English whore throughout the entire thing and didn’t stop for so long…. It felt like it would never end. It was when half his people decided they didn’t want to be allies with France.” Arthur spoke gently. Francis felt angry.  
  
The two of them, they were the only ones that knew he was infatuated with Arthur. He was made fun of because of it. They teased him, told him Arthur wasn’t his type. Yet they has slept with him? Hypocrites  
  
“I only slept with him that one time. I told him I could give him more than you could right then and briefly. I thought he was trying to kill me. But we have a lot of… Unbridled rage against one another. Or did. I haven’t spoken to him about personal matters in years.” Francis nods his head, he needs to hear this. He’ll confront them later.  
  
“Gilbert the first time…. He was rough, but he didn’t purposefully hurt me. He’s definitely lying about his cock size, but it’s sizable. I felt like he’d stuck his fist in me.” Arthur murmurs, there was no look of shame on his face. But a dazed look as he thought about it. “We’ve slept together numerous times. He did it when I was briefly captured as a POW in WW2. He was the reason I was able to escape. We’ve…. More or less become occasional drinking buddies. But I think he’s seeing someone else. He’s turned me down the last few times i suggested it”  
  
Arthur opens his mouth to say something but just whines as Francis gripes Arthur’s cock.  
  
“That is enough. I want to make you forget them, and only think of me.”  
  
“I always have.” England murmurs and it makes Francis pounce on him, pressing England into the soft cotton sheets and kissing him till their lips are red and bruised.  
  
Wasn’t that a pretty sight on Arthur? Lips swollen from being bit and abused lovingly. Arthur had his arms around Francis' neck, panting.  
  
“I always thought of you,” Arthur murmured, kissing Francis’ neck. “From the first time I had sex with Santiago. I begrudgingly knew I wished it had been you.” He admits, throwing shame to the backburner.  
  
Francis whines, kissing Arthur again. Chastely. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, since the moment you gave me that flower when we first met. You were so small and cute. Face red and I didn’t know what to do about my feelings for so long.” Francis kisses Arthur’s cheek.  
  
“I’m sorry mon amour, I hurt you because I wasn’t sure how to love you yet.” He admits sadly. “When I learned how, we were already fighting. I buried them, those feelings for you. But I always wanted your attention. Your eyes on me.”  
  
Arthur’s hands are gentle on his face and the warm look makes him want to die from all the feelings it gave him. Such a soft loving look.  
  
“Remember when we raised the boys together, because they would cry when they were apart?” Arthur whispered gently. Francis nods with a shiver, fixated on Arthur’s face.  
  
“I had never wanted to be a human more than the time we spent raising them together. I felt like everything was perfect. My only displeasure was the fact we did not share a bed then.”  
  
“Oui, Dieu moi aussi. I never wanted it to end.” Francis brushes back Arthur’s fringe feeling so… Complete. “I remember you, holding Alfred in the quilt you insisted you had to make for him. Next to the hearth.Your eyes were so warm and full of love. I never wanted to leave that moment. Mathieu had been put down to sleep already, but Alfred was being fussy.”  
  
“He always was.” Arthur chuckles.  
  
They laid there, just together, close. Warm, realizing firmly that they’re finally together. Francis, even though still hard, that he could just exist in this moment for the rest of eternity. Arthur kissed at his jaw and murmured in his ear, it sent electricity through his body. He said it in french with his cute english accent.  
  
“S'il te plaît, fais-moi l'amour. J'ai attendu si longtemps pour ça.”  
  
_Please, make love to me. I've waited so long for this._ _  
_ _  
_ “Angleterre- moi- Oui.” Francis says in wonder. Ready to ravish his lover with all that he has.  
  
They moved more towards the center of the bed, Arthur’s head on the pillows as he moved to make it easier for Francis to take his pants off. Francis admires him, pale skin, a few scars that never healed. A few freckles. Francis never got a good look before, but finds himself bemused to note that Arthur’s pubic hair was the same shade as his hair, not black as his eyebrows.  
  
“Francis.” He barely heard Arthur’s call but he looked up curiously. “You’re still wearing your clothes, love.”  
  
He can’t help a startled laugh. He was. Arthur sits up, kissing his mouth then his chin, hands beginning to unbutton Francis’ shirt.  
  
“Why did we wait so long.” Francis can’t help but say in wonder, this felt so good.  
  
“I thought you found me disgusting.” Arthur admits without stopping, once his shirt was unbuttoned he began undoing Francis belt.  
  
“I thought you hated me.” Francis admits.  
  
“I did for a long time. I hated that you ruined me without any of the benefit. But all that did was make me want you more.” Arthur breathes softly. “Also. I’m not going to stop calling you frog and will definitely keep getting angry with you. Because sometimes, you’re the biggest wanker on this planet.” Arthur gives him a sharp look that makes him laugh awkwardly. But he smirks.  
  
“You’re my wanker though…. ?” The end is a question, a nervous one as he tosses his belt off the bed and unbuttons his pants next.  
  
“Oui, I am yours if you will be mine.” Francis promises.  
  
“Yes.” Arthur said simply before kissing him, it was another one of those deliciously chaste ones, sweet and loving. When he pulls back he breathly says. “Right side table. Bottom drawer. There’s lube.” He lays back down on the pillows and Francis just can’t help but tease him as he slides off the bed to get the lube.  
  
“Yes Young Master.” Francis purred, and loved the way his face and neck flush. A frown on his still puffy lips.  
  
When he opens the drawer, he feels his heart beat in excitement for the future. A well made pair of leather handcuffs, with a padded white lining. A few neatly organized toys and a large bottle of lube. He takes the bottle and grins towards England in acknowledgement of what he saw and Arthur had to look a way. A bit of embarrassment with those pretty blue eyes on him.  
  
Francis is quick to get back on him, taking the last of his clothes off before going between Arthur’s willingly spread legs. He’s free hand down it, enjoying the shiver and noticing tiny batches of freckles on his skin. Francis knows what he wants.  
  
“Parle à nouveau en français pour moi, mon amour.” He requests, lubing up a hand and warming it in his palm.  
  
_Speak in French for me again, my love._ _  
_ _  
_ Arthur rolls his eyes, but there was amusement there. “Soyez plus rapide ou je serai mort au moment où nous commencerons Frog.” He said the last bit normally with a smirk.  
  
_Be quicker or I'll be dead by the time we start Frog._ _  
_ “If you weren’t such good company.” Francis huffs a laugh, teasing as he begins to circle a finger around his backside. England sighs, but it’s more pleased than not.  
  
Arthur leans up, making sure Francis still has an angle to prep him at, but putting a hand on him to give him a look.  
  
“Francis, if you’re telling the truth. We have plenty of time to enjoy and dive into things. But I _need_ you right now before I lose my bloody mind.” Arthur whines and Francis feels like he’s gone mad at that- The words he wanted the most. He smashes his loops together so quick that they both wince when their teeth clatter, but Francis pushes his back down into the pillows. Letting muscle memory prep Arthur, shoving a finger in that made him whine into the kiss.  
  
A second well he’s kissing at the scar on his neck.  
  
A third when he felt Arthur’s nails dig into his back.  
  
“Oh _fuck!_ There!”  
  
He found the jackpot, he rubs England’s prostate for a few more seconds. Enjoying how delicious those noises were now that they weren’t tarnished by other nation’s causing them. The growl that he got when he pulled his fingers out, only made him ache with need.  
  
“P-put my leg on your shoulder.” Arthur orders and Francis chuckles, lined up and nudging teasily as he does what he’s ordered to. When he finally pushes in, they both moan. Francis keeps a hand on the strong leg on his shoulder as he moves. Trying to find that lovely spot again. When he does Arthur howls with pleasure, it shakes his bonds and makes him a tad worried that some worried citizen will call the cops on them for the noise.  
  
But it doesn’t matter, all that does is them. Just Arthur and Francis, not England or France. Just two men that have longed for each other for so many lifetimes.  
  
Arthur cums first with a gutteral sound and a blissed out expression on his face, Francis feels it. The cum between their two bodies and the tightening around him that makes him moan.  
  
He cums, the tension in his stomach making him shudder as he flops onto England once it’s run it’s course, making the man grunt.  
  
“Your face looks stupid.” Arthur teases, when Francis looks at him. But doesn’t give him the chance to retaliate because he kisses him.  
  
“Is this an elaborate way to keep me quiet Arthur?” Francis asks with false seriousness, which makes Arthur grin.  
  
“Perhaps, but are you going to complain?” Arthur asks with a quirked brow.  
  
“Never.” Francis says with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, my return to this fandom after 10 years! Writing is MUCH better!


End file.
